


The Business of Pleasure

by flibbertygigget



Series: The Other 51 [10]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Aftercare, Alexander might not fully understand how prostitutes work..., Alexander survived the duel, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Burr is a prostitute in France, Dildos, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Power Imbalance, Sugar Daddy Alexander Hamilton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-06-01 02:50:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6497887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flibbertygigget/pseuds/flibbertygigget
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The rule of my life is to make business a pleasure and pleasure my business.<br/>- Aaron Burr</p><p>Or: After the duel, Burr is forced into exile in Europe and becomes a prostitute.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Business of Pleasure

It is 1810, he is in Paris, and it is raining.

Aaron Burr has no coat to draw around himself. He doesn't even have a cravat. He is down to practically his underclothes: simple long breeches, a white shirt with the top few buttons undone, no frock coat. He cannot afford to wear anything more.

Burr looks around at the assortment of people around him, come to peddle or inspect their wares. He had thought that the Holy Ground in New York had been the most perverse place on earth, but, no, Paris is worse. In Paris, the prostitutes are everywhere.

An old man catches his eye and grins. Burr straightens, doing his best to look young, innocent, seductive. It works; it always works. These men want to be caught in his web. Burr allows himself to be led into an ally, already teeming with those who couldn't wait to find anywhere more private.

"How much?" the old man says gruffly. Not for the first time, Burr is glad that he knows French.

"Three francs," he says. The man nods and slips the money into Burr's hand, and then he is shoved to his knees. Burr barely thinks as he takes the cock in his mouth. He finishes the man quickly, swallowing the ejaculate before leaving, ready for the next consumer of the miserable night.

It is hard to believe that a mere eight years before Burr had been Vice President of the United States. It seems like another man's life to him when he stands here in the cold rain, waiting for the next person who will take his mouth or ass. It was his duel with Hamilton that had toppled him, and Burr cannot even take satisfaction in having killed the man. Hamilton is, it seems, invulnerable, easily able to recover full strength after what should have been a crippling wound. Burr should have shot him in the mouth.

But there is no time for regretting. He has rent and debts and other expenses to pay, not to mention the impossible-seeming goal of saving enough to return to his daughter and his country. No matter how much he resents and hates his current position, it will all be worth it in the end. It has to be.

* * *

Prostitutes, Burr has learned, have a surprisingly good knowledge of the news. Few of them read, of course, but it is considered useful to know when new dignitaries are arriving in Paris, because their inevitable entourages are always full of new clients. It is through the gossip of the woman prostitutes that Burr learns that the United States is sending a new ambassador.

"Who is it?" he asks when he hears the news. "Who's with him?"

"Hoping to get a bite,  _Gaine_?" one of the ladies teases.

"No, I am simply curious. Of course, I wouldn't say no to a little extra money."

"Well, the ambassador is John Quincy Adams," the lady says. "He's accompanied by his wife," a collective groan from all present, "a few dignitaries too inconsequential to name in the papers, and General Hamilton." Burr is nearly sick right then and there.

"Hamilton?" he says.

"Yes," says another lady. "Now  _he's_ the one I'll be after. He seems to have nothing against paying his whores handsomely, after all, at least if his pamphlets are to be believed."

Burr ignores the twittering laughter of the ladies in favor of his own thoughts. Why would Hamilton be coming to Paris. He knows the man- he would never be content with a secondary role anywhere. Of course, all these questions are dwarfed by the fact that Burr cannot afford to be seen like this, not by Hamilton. Were he to be seen by that man, he had no doubt that word of his degradation would reach America within a week.

Burr does not want his life to be exposed to all and sundry, especially not his Theodosia.

* * *

The day that the Americans arrive is a day of more excitement than any in Burr's experience. The ladies especially have made an extra effort, and Burr can't help but catch a little of the excitement himself, no matter how much he wishes not to even see the Americans.

The street that he usually walks is even more crowded than normal, since it seems that every prostitute in Paris is hoping to become the new mistress of one of the Americans. However, when the American finally do come, Burr cannot keep his eyes off of the man who ruined him.

Hamilton is just as he remembers him. Other than his hair now being completely grey, he doesn't seem to have aged a day, and his clothes are even finer than before. He seems almost disinterested as he surveys the ladies who practically throw themselves at him, as though he is here for business rather than pleasure. Still, he seems... well. Burr is surprised to find that he is glad of it.

Hamilton's intense brown eyes suddenly lock with Burr's eyes. Burr freezes, heart nearly beating out of his chest as Hamilton approaches him. It is one thing to service strangers, but Hamilton... He has not recognized him, of that Burr is certain, but Burr doesn't know if that will hold long enough for him to do his job and collect his fee.

"How much for your services?" Hamilton says.

"How much do you think I'm worth?" Burr immediately curses his tongue, so used to trading barbs back and forth with Hamilton, but luckily Hamilton just throws back his head and laughs.

"I will judge that once we have finished," Hamilton says, "but for now..." He places a 20 franc note in Burr's hand, and Burr stares at it. "I trust this will be sufficient." Burr nods. Hamilton winds an arm around his waist, leading him to a waiting carriage.

The entire affair has a sense of unreality to it, and Burr expects at any moment to be woken up. But, no, Hamilton is truly there, truly leading him inside the house that had been given for the ambassadors' use, up the stairs to a handsomely furnished room. As soon as the door closes behind them, Hamilton begins to undo Burr's shirt buttons.

"What do you want?" Hamilton says. Burr's eyes flutter as the hands slide down his sides and to his waist.

"Whatever you want, sir," he says, almost gasps. Hamilton's grip is almost bruising.

"Don't call me sir," Hamilton says, pushing Burr onto the bed. Burr sinks slowly into the mattress, and then Hamilton is on him, lips pressing, fingers grasping, and it feels  _good_.

It has been a long time since Burr has been able to say that he's enjoyed sex. He's used to the impersonal, anonymous encounters of a prostitute, but that familiarity doesn't lessen the fact that it is lonely. Hamilton though... Hamilton is ravishing him, and Burr is loving every second of it. He raises his hips as Hamilton does away with his trousers, responds with moans and whimpers to every touch.

Hamilton reaches for a bottle of something, pouring a liberal amount onto his fingers. Burr braces for the intrusion, but, no, Hamilton's fingers are slick. They slide in and out easily, far easier than the rough treatment that Burr is used to. And when Hamilton's cock nudges his entrance, slowly filling him- Burr had never known that being fucked could feel this good. He knows that he won't be able to hold on much longer.

"Sir, I can't-" Hamilton doesn't hit him or use any other methods that men sometimes use to control their whores. Instead he wraps him hand around Burr's cock, stroking him in the same fast, steady rhythm. Burr digs his fingernails into the mattress, but he can't hold back a soft cry as he comes.

"Burr," Hamilton moans as he follows moments later. Burr freezes, tensing as he realizes that Hamilton  _knows_.

"Sir?" he says, but Hamilton is already standing, buttoning his trousers and retying his cravat. Burr tries to stand, knowing how this goes even when the prostitute isn't someone who once shot you, but Hamilton shakes his head.

"Stay here. Get some rest." Hamilton leaves the room, and Burr collapses back on the mattress. He isn't usually asked to stay, but Hamilton no doubt wants to use him again before the night is up, only leaving to give himself time to recover. Still... Burr is tired enough to risk Hamilton's wrath. He doesn't even try to stay awake.

* * *

When Burr wakes up, he thinks he is in New York.

The bed is definitely comfortable enough to be his own. He can feel the sunlight on his face, and the rough yelling of peddlers has been replaced with carriage wheels and horseshoes. Burr opens his eyes, half expecting to see his wife beside him, and then he remembers.

Burr sits up like a shot, looking around frantically, but he sees no one. On a nearby table is a full breakfast. Burr approaches it cautiously, but when he sees an envelope addressed to  _Gaine_ he grabs it and tears it open. The letter is surprisingly short:

_Monsieur Gaine,_

_I apologize for my abrupt departure last night, but I was embarrassed. I never intended to reveal to you that I was using you as a substitute for another man. In truth, you bear such a striking resemblance to him that I was unable to help myself. I pray that you forgive me and believe me when I say that it shall not happen again._

_Enclosed is the rest of your payment. I hope that it is sufficient. If it is agreeable to you, leave me an address at which I might find you. If you would rather not see me again, simply say so and I will immediately cease all contact with you_

_A. Hamilton_

Burr goes back into the envelope, and he almost drops it when he sees what is enclosed. There is a 50 franc note. He had only hoped, when he had accepted the 20 francs from Hamilton, to get from one client what would have taken seven normally, but this... If he continues associating with Hamilton, being his whore, he can pay for rent and food and still have some left over. He can save up for America, maybe in a few months. He can see Theodosia again.

He would be a fool to give up this chance. Quickly, Burr scrawls out his address, careful to obscure his true handwriting. He can't let Hamilton know who he really is.

Burr chooses not to examine how Hamilton is using him as a substitute for another man who looks suspiciously like him. It is irrelevant.

* * *

 

When Hamilton's carriage pulls up in front of Burr's building a few days later, Burr nearly runs down the stairs. No matter how much the ladies titter about him being a "kept man," he doesn't want to do anything with the slightest possibility of angering Hamilton. Not only would he be cut off from his best chance at getting back to America, but he has no way of knowing what Hamilton's reaction would be. Was Hamilton the kind of man to simply refuse payment, or would he have a more violent reaction? As well as Burr knows him, he has never known Hamilton like this. This unknown aspect, so liable to go wrong, frightens him.

When Burr enters the carriage, eyes respectfully downcast, Hamilton barely looks at him. Instead he seems absorbed by the buildings lining the street. Burr looks at him tentatively, testing the waters, trying to find out what liberties Hamilton would allow him to take.

"This is not acceptable," Hamilton mutters.

"Sir?" Hamilton jumps, looking at Burr as though he had forgotten that he was there.

"Don't call me that. If you must use a title, use Colonel." Hamilton looks back at the house, and Burr bites down the urge to point out that Hamilton is not a colonel anymore. "These lodgings are not acceptable for you."

"It's what I can afford," Burr says, pushing aside the humiliation that the admission costs him. He isn't usually so ashamed of his lodgings, but this is different. This is Hamilton, even if Hamilton doesn't realize who Burr really is.

"I'll find you better ones within a week."

"I can't-" Hamilton waves aside the protest.

"Well, I can. Don't worry about it." By this time they have pulled up to the place that Hamilton is staying. Burr follows Hamilton again to the same room, but he stops short when he sees the materials on the bed. It's not as though he hasn't used a dildo before, he has. But he's never used one as a prostitute.

"What are we doing tonight, s- Colonel?" he says. Hamilton kisses him, surprisingly soft, slipping a hand into Burr's shirt to squeeze his nipple.

"First, I'm going to need you nice and open," Hamilton says. Burr nods, stripping off his trousers. Hamilton seems willing to go slowly, teasing his entrance open, still using the oil. Finally he seems satisfied. Hamilton picks up the dildo, and Burr is surprised to find that he is actually looking forward to whatever Hamilton has planned.

At first Burr is able to take it easily, but as the dildo widens nearer to the base he hisses. Hamilton stops, a steadying hand tracing gentle circles on Burr's back.

"Alright?" he said. Burr nods, trying to relax enough to continue without hurting himself. "We can stop at any time, you know." Burr shakes his head, knowing that stopping isn't really allowed.

"I can take it," he says. Hamilton nods, and the rest of the dildo is slowly inserted. It makes him feel almost too full, as though every space is completely engulfed by the toy. Burr is shaking as Hamilton guides him down to sit on the floor, whimpering as the dildo is somehow driven in further.

"Good, you're so good." Hamilton sits in a chair in front of Burr, and Burr rests his forehead on the inside of Hamilton's thigh. "Do you want my cock in your mouth?" Burr's mouth opens obediently as Hamilton undoes his trousers. Burr wraps his lips around Hamilton's cock, and then Hamilton drives into him.

Each time Hamilton thrusts in and out he slides the dildo in the same rhythm. Burr has never felt this full, this stimulated, as though each movement could tear him in two. There's no room in him for considering whether he enjoys it or not, no room to even feel his own arousal, though he knows that he must be hard. All that exists is the hardness in his mouth and ass, the unrelenting push and pull, and the desire for more of it.

Hamilton pulls out of Burr's mouth with a soft pop, and then he comes, sticky strands dripping from Burr's lips and chin. Burr looks up at him, expecting to be kicked out now that Hamilton is satisfied, but to his surprise Hamilton continues the rhythm in his ass until Burr comes as well, dirtying Hamilton's boots.

"Colonel, I'm sorry-" Hamilton shushes him, gently pulling Burr into his arms, off the dildo. Burr whimpers at the sudden emptiness. It suddenly occurs to him that he had perhaps been enjoying himself too much, that he was going to be punished for coming without Hamilton's leave. But, no, Hamilton doesn't seem to be angry at him. He seems... he seems as though Burr had done exactly what he wanted.

"Did you enjoy that,  _Gaine_?" Hamilton says. Burr nods, but then he tenses as Hamilton begins to undo the buttons of his shirt. He doesn't think he had do it again, not so soon. "No, no, shh. Let's just get you cleaned up." Burr lies there in numb disbelief as Hamilton strips off the shirt, dirty with sweat and come, and begins to use a wet cloth to clean Burr's skin. No one bothers to help a prostitute afterwards. It just doesn't happen, and yet Burr is undoubtedly here, being cared for by Hamilton. It doesn't make sense.

Burr drops off before Hamilton finishes.

* * *

When he wakes up, Burr finds something surprisingly solid at his back. It takes him a few moments to realize that it is another man and even longer to discover that it is Hamilton. When he finally figures it out, Burr tenses. Being allowed to fall asleep in a client's bed is one thing, but that client falling asleep with him, holding him... Burr doesn't know what to think. He knows that Hamilton isn't the normal client, but this doesn't seem like the behavior of a man towards a whore. It is the behavior of a man towards his spouse.

As Hamilton slowly wakes up, he draws Burr closer, and Burr finds himself relaxing into it. Hamilton presses a kiss into Burr's shoulder, and Burr finds himself making an appreciative noise. He shouldn't be this responsive, this happy. He shouldn't, but he is.

"Good morning," Hamilton says, and then he gets up. Burr notices that, while he is naked, Hamilton is still fully clothed, right down to his boots.It makes Burr feel strangely vulnerable, and he begins to get up. "No, stay there. I've sent for breakfast, and it should be here in a few minutes." At that very moment the door opens,and a maid brings in a tray full of food. Burr should feel embarrassed, he knows, but he'd too busy staring at the food. He doesn't normally eat breakfast; he can't afford it. Having such a bounty as his is a novel concept to him now.

Hamilton sits on the edge of the bed and begins to cut up a slice of ham. Burr fights the crushing disappointment. He should have expected the breakfast to be for Hamilton, not for him. He is, after all, only a prostitute. Perhaps Hamilton will let him have whatever remains afterwards.

"Here," Hamilton says. Burr stares at the piece of ham offered on the tip of Hamilton's fork, half expecting for this to be some kind of trick. "Eat." Burr leans forward and takes the proffered food in his mouth, studying Hamilton carefully, but he can't get a read on him. Hamilton doesn't seem to have any motive at all, simply offering Burr small pieces of ham and egg and toast. It is only when Burr has finished his meal, sipping the last of the coffee from the cup in Hamilton's hands, that he dares to ask the question that's been burning inside him.

"Why are you being so..." The words die away as Hamilton guides Burr's head down into his lap, gently stroking Burr's hair. Burr's breath shudders.

"I want to take care of you," Hamilton says.

"Because I remind you of your friend?" Hamilton's hand stills for a second, and Burr tenses, sure that he's made a terrible mistake. But then Hamilton continues, seemingly unaffected, and Burr forces himself to relax.

"That was my motivation at first," Hamilton admits. "When I saw you on the street, it was... it was like seeing a ghost. But now..." He kisses Burr's forehead, and Burr leans into the touch, almost begging for more. "You're nothing like Burr, but that's okay, that's perfect. I'm not sure I could stand being with him anyways."

"Why? How am I different than him?"

"Burr would... You might look like him, but Burr would never be like this. He always would fight me, always pushed back, and while that's something I can admire in a colleague, we'd probably exhaust each other if we tried to do anything else. But you..." Hamilton kisses his collarbone this time, catching at the skin with his teeth, and Burr moans. "You're so submissive, so responsive and eager to please. I feel like I could do anything to you and you'd love it."

For a moment, Burr allows himself to imagine what it would be like if it wasn't his job to be what Hamilton wanted, if they had somehow come to this place without money being placed in Burr's hand. The short answer was that they wouldn't have, that politics and thoughtless words would have forever reduced the other to an idle fantasy. But if somehow they had... Burr can't imagine it being like this. Then again, his life before seems more like a pleasant daydream thank reality, so completely is it removed from what he is now, what he really is.

Burr suddenly realizes that he doesn't want this to end. It's been too long since he's looked forward to a dalliance. No matter how humiliating it would be for Hamilton to discover who he really is, how far he's fallen, Burr is too starved for gentle hands and adoring eyes to cut himself off from even so dangerous a source.

He will leave as soon as he has the money to go back to America, Burr decides. No matter what, he will return as soon as he can to his old life, and then this will all be over.

* * *

Hamilton moves him within a week as promised, and slowly the apartment begins to fill with clothes and books and things that Burr tries to reject every time but Hamilton always gives anyways. Burr knows that, with all the money he is saving, it won't be long before he can gain passage to America. He still itches to go back, to regain his old life, but something keeps him from going and buying passage. He justifies it to himself, saying that he needs more to be secure once he is gone and cut off from Hamilton's seemingly bottomless wallet, but he knows that there is more to it. He will miss Hamilton once he's gone.

It's simple to exchange sex for money, uncomplicated in a way that he and Hamilton can never be elsewhere. Burr knows that, once he regains his old life, they will go back to their old habits of back and forth, give and take. As eager as he is to not be like this anymore, he cannot deny that this interlude with Hamilton has been... good.

Finally, Burr can't make excuses anymore. He has more than enough to go and reopen his law practice, more money, in fact, than he has ever seen in cash form. He has no doubt that soon all his debts will be repaid, his reputation repaired, and all through an unknowing Hamilton. Burr doesn't know how to feel bout the raw irony of the fact that the man who ruined him has also lifted him from iniquity and destitution.

When Burr leaves, he writes Hamilton a quick letter, hoping that it will be enough:

_Dearest Colonel,_

_I fear that you will be made unhappy when you find me gone, but it cannot be helped. I have received word that my daughter has fallen very ill, and so I must go to care for her. I hope that you will not be angered by my sudden departure, and will remember me always as_

_Your loving_

_Gaine_

* * *

Burr returns to New York and reestablishes his law practice. He is no longer notorious as a lawyer or as a dueler, but it's fine. He is a patient man.

It is strange that, when he hears that his daughter is lost at sea, thought dead, he is a perfect picture of calm. He has suffered too much to show anything easily. It is only when he is left alone that he breaks down, crying and screaming as he has never before. He cannot stop it, no matter how he tries. He feels severed from the human race.

A few days later, there is a knock on his door. Burr rubs the red from his eyes, hoping that his appearance doesn't give him away, and then he opens the door. To his surprise, there is Hamilton, looking just as he always has.

"What do you want?" Burrs says. Hamilton shifts awkwardly.

"I was sorry to hear about your daughter," he says. Burr nods numbly. "If there's anything I can do to help-"

"No." Hamilton nods, slipping his hands into his pockets.

"Look, Burr, about last time-"

"Hamilton, please-" Burr doesn't want to think about how the last memory Hamilton has of Burr is of the duel, of Burr shooting him. But Hamilton shakes his head, placing a piece of paper in Burr's hand. Burr stares at the letter that he had left behind.

"I knew it was you as soon as I saw that you were going to care for your daughter," Hamilton says. "I know that you're hurt, and I know that we didn't have the right start, but... I'm willing to try again."

"Really?" Hamilton nods, a grin breaking across his face as Burr opens the door fully, gesturing towards the dim interior. "Than come in." 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
